Chapter 11 — The Colonial Settlement of Farharbor
Between one breath and the next, the world turned shades of gray and the dome above them was overlapped with a scene of a sky and billowy clouds. At the same time, a lurch of vertigo and a strange pressure pressed down on him from all sides. Before he could blink away the unreality, the pressure was gone, replaced by humid air which brushed against his face accompanied by a salty smell Toren could only assume was the smell of the sea.
He was standing under Horevi's warmth, under that sky with billowy clouds.
Around him a few terrified screams echoed out from the group and some of the others lost their balance and fell to the stone. A number of the younger children began crying.
“Ah, that was fun,” Vim chuckled. “First time experiencing anything like that!”
Toren eyed the boy and discreetly patted himself down, checking for new injuries. None. There didn’t appear to be any injured among his fellow travelers either—just people panicked by the strange experience.
The open sky wasn’t the only change in their surroundings. The stone beneath them was inscribed with the same glowing teleportation circle, but instead of white, the stone was black with glittering specks and an uncomfortable heat radiated up from it. In place of the domed building, they were now on a raised platform with a ramp sloping downward into a mud-caked cobblestone square with a fountain around a statue of a man Toren didn’t recognize.
“Garris, Jord, assist the striders. Novis expedition, move out!” a guard that looked more like a [Knight] crisply instructed, and the late-arriving coach was carefully walked backward down the ramp, the mercenaries and the two smaller wagons following.
While their group waited for the nobles to go about their business, Toren continued to take in the settlement that would determine his future. His first impression was strongly shaped by the construction going on all around, scaffolding, tall half-finished stone buildings, workers moving materials to worksites, foundations being laid. The sound of hammering and foremen calling out orders filled the air with a constant clamor that rivaled the cacophony of birds and whatever else made its home in the untamed wilderness that surrounded the settlement.
Though ‘surround’ might have been an overstatement of the situation as the settlement was cupped between ridges of jagged black rock that jutted out into the sea—at least so he had to assume since most of the view of the sea was blocked by a wall-topped berm. The only gap in the tide-wall was for a large and busy pier that extended past the surf into the ocean waters. He had no idea how that worked. Wouldn’t the gap let in the water when the tide came back in?
At the other end of the settlement he could make out where the ends of another man-made wall met the natural defense formed by the ridges, a wall designed to ward-off a different sort of tide—monsters.
“The trees here are weird,” Vim commented, pointing.
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Toren could only agree. The few trees that had been left amid the cobblestone and new construction to provide shade were indeed strange, sitting up on tangles of roots that extended waist-high or more out of the ground. Worryingly, if the strange shape and the line of discoloration most of the way up the roots was an indication of the usual water level, this land must flood to that extent fairly often.
His supposition was supported by the height of the foundations being built for the new buildings and the raised boardwalks that snaked from the pier throughout the stilt-raised and weathered older buildings that made up most of the settlement.
Once the nobles were on their way, a nearby loud voice overpowered the din, “WELCOME TO FARHARBOR! I AM FARHARBOR GUARD CAPTAIN FERDOR!”
Finding the source of the booming voice wasn’t difficult. A dark-haired man in shining mail and plate with a blue cape, full-faced helm secured in the crook of an arm, was standing on the platform just to the side of the ramp. With more room on the platform after the nobles’ departure, many spread out to get an unobstructed view of the man.
“TRAVELERS ARE ENCOURAGED TO PROMPTLY MAKE LODGING ARRANGEMENTS AT FARHARBOR’S INNS. AVAILABLE ROOMS WILL FILL QUICKLY! INFORMATION ABOUT HOUSING AND STEADING CAN BE FOUND INSIDE THE GOVERNANCE HALL.”
The captain gestured with his arm toward a tall column-fronted stone building facing the cobblestone square half-covered in scaffolding, workers chiseling decorative scenes into the stone facade, others raising stone and timber, laboring to complete the structure for one of the building’s wings.
“ALL INDENTURED SERVICE ENLISTEES, GATHER IN THE SQUARE FOR YOUR ORIENTATION! THE REST OF YOU ARE FREE TO GO ABOUT AVAILING YOURSELVES OF THE TOWN’S AMENITIES.”
No one needed encouragement to leave the sun-heated stone platform as the sweltering air of Farharbor was hot enough on its own. Toren couldn’t even imagine how hot the captain guy was in mail armor.
“Come on, you two! Let’s see what the shops look like before we hit the jungle!” the voice of one of the three rich thrillseekers Toren noted earlier, probably the one that Vim pickpocketed, could be heard loudly addressing his buddies.
The three weren’t the only one’s heading off into the town, many of the families were splitting up, the mothers and children hurrying off, the fathers staying behind.
“Thanks for the cover, Bro. Best of luck,” Vim said with a smirking wink, and before Toren could say anything back, the boy’s cloaked figure was disappearing among those heading off, leaving Toren behind.
Toren didn’t know whether he should be relieved Vim wasn’t expecting to sponge off him or worried that the boy’s actions would come to bite him in the future. Setting worries he couldn’t control aside, he joined the other enlistees gathering for the offered indentured service orientation in front of a long wood-plank wall with notices tacked to it.
With everyone else off the platform, a taskmaster was soon barking out commands to the slaves and moving the huge orrog-drawn wagons of construction materials and supplies down the ramp and into the square. Toren watched with some interest as the taskmaster directed the slaves to pull on their chains to slow each wagon’s descent and not overburden or risk the orrogs.
“Whoa, is that 100,000 credits?” a man in leather armor not unlike Toren’s own gasped as he pointed to a prominently featured notice with a drawing of a large lizard with a huge jaw and blade-clawed arms, towering on two powerful legs built for running.
100,000 credits? Maybe he really could pay back all his debt and then some.
“ALRIGHT, YOU LOT. THAT’S ENOUGH TIME TO DEAL WITH FAMILY MATTERS. IT’S TIME TO BEGIN THE ORIENTATION. PAY ATTENTION.”
Though he mocked the thrill-seeking idiots, Toren couldn’t help the excitement of adventure causing his heartbeat to quicken and his mouth to quirk up in a smile.